ODE 'FLYING ANGELS'

Tell that angel that when she flies

she flies too close to the ground,

when she treads like the breeze,

swirling our noses in,

whirlful emotions,

they make us take the longest way round.

Tell that angel

that she made me grow bumps on my brows,

when she stands on our lids

till I drowse away into the tour she took me.

Tell that angel

that she doesn't belong here,

go find a stool among the seraphs

where beauty isn't blindfolding.

Tell that angel

that men would lay dirt to her gown,

she doesn't belong down here.

OLUMIDE ORIPINYE

(TZEBLON).

The bard tells of a special woman he sees whom he never utters a word to. He opens how special she is and calls her a Flying Angel among humans.